


Cherry Deluxe

by AngelinaVansen (catherineflowers)



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 09:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14788161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catherineflowers/pseuds/AngelinaVansen
Summary: Set in an AU where Seven was never reconnected with the Borg after the episode Survival Instinct, Janeway is imprisoned on an alien world.





	Cherry Deluxe

**Author's Note:**

> Written in the early 2000s.
> 
> Just in case you haven't read the tags, a warning for a very very strongly violent and non-con scene in this.

The beam-in was bad because the transporter wasn't properly calibrated to her physiology. 

Janeway felt every molecule in her body rip apart individually, her blood boiling, her skin smoking, everything feeling like it was haemorrhaging. For a moment she was convinced that she was about to die. 

There were lights, but they could have been hallucinations. She could feel her consciousness slipping away, whited out in a wave of sheer agony.

Then it was over. She was on the floor, a cold, dirty tiled floor, spluttering and puking and smelling distinctly singed. The soles of her boots were actually melded with the ground. Prison transporter diagnostics were obviously low on the priority list in Kruger space.

Even though she could see little except a tunnel of fizzing light, there were people approaching. She could hear them. 

Janeway threw herself blindly backwards, pulling her feet out of her ruined boots and scrambling away on her bottom. Her legs weren't even close to working.

"Hello?" she called out, rubbing at her eyes.

Someone, a female someone, laughed.

"My name is Kathryn Janeway," she called out, trying to make her voice as clear and steady as possible. She had no idea if her universal translator was still working after a transport like that.

Clearly, it was. "Hello, Fresh Meat," replied the same voice. It was a high-pitched screech of a voice, the voice of a female Kruger, native to this solar system. She didn't sound friendly.

Suddenly the banging in Janeway's head receded, and her vision returned in a rush, the light stinging her bruised retinas.

There were around twenty of them in all, mostly Kruger, approaching from all directions. They were all thin and wild-eyed and bedraggled. None of them were looking at her face. All were looking at her body with a kind of crazed, drooling starvation. Maybe they wanted to kill her for food. They certainly looked hungry enough.

"I've got nothing of value," she told them.

They moved in anyway, and the first blow came from behind, a vicious crack to the back of her head which landed her back on her face on the cold tiles.

One of them had a weapon; a long piece of wood carved into a small club. It was probably solid enough to split her skull if they hit her hard enough. She knew it was definitely best not to test that, so she didn't fight too hard. After the events of the past few days, it wasn't like she had a lot of fight left in her anyway.

Her clothes lasted less than a minute. They kicked her, hit her, stripped her. Nice, clean, Starfleet red was everywhere, on all of the women who beat her. Her pips rolled away, useless. No one wanted those.

The room was spinning. She needed to sleep.

\---

When Janeway woke up again, she was in a cell. She was on the ground, lying with her face in a small puddle of greenish vomit.

Her head ached.

She looked around, although it hurt to look. One of her eyes was swollen with bruising. She was very cold. There was no one else around, although she could hear other prisoners shouting to each other in the distance.

She needed something to eat.

Slowly, forcing her legs to obey her, she stood. Every part of her shook. Muscles twitched. She groaned and clutched her head, aching from the bruising and the transport. 

Slowly she started to become aware of her surroundings. She was in a small room, a cell she supposed. Dingy unpainted walls that smelled cold and damp. A dented metal door, shut tight. She stumbled and then clawed herself up, begging her muscles to work. They protested.

Immediately beside her was a bed, a metal frame covered with little more than a threadbare sheet and a rough blanket. No pillow. There was a toilet in one corner that was surprisingly clean.

She could barely keep her feet, so she sat down on the bed. She was dressed only in her grey Starfleet issue underwear and it wasn't warm in here. She held her head in her hands as it throbbed.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open from the other side and someone entered the cell. A woman. Tall, imposing, bigger built than the slight Kruger, although it was still difficult for Janeway to see. Her eyes really hurt.

The woman closed the door behind her. Then she came over to Janeway, standing right above her. The Captain could only pray she wasn't aggressive; she doubted she could put up much of a fight. "You are human," the woman said. "From Earth."

Janeway looked at her, breathing hard as the other woman's form swam in and out of focus. She was tall, almost two metres, and had long blonde hair that reached partway down her back. Her forehead and face were smooth. Her skin was pale. She was definitely NOT Kruger. 

"Yes ..." croaked Janeway. "Human ..." She was wilting on the bed, dizzy and nauseous.

The woman looked back at her without letting her eyes meet Janeway's. They drifted over her near-naked body, taking in her bone structure, her musculature, her biology. 

"I am human," she announced then, although Janeway had guessed. "I thought perhaps you might be my mother." 

"I'm sorry?" Janeway asked.

"Are you my mother?" the woman repeated with some impatience.

"I seriously doubt it," Janeway replied slowly, not really sure what was going on. "My name is Kathryn Janeway, I am the Captain of the USS Voyager."

The woman's eyes blazed with something unfathomable. "Starfleet?" she questioned. "We were not aware that Starfleet were exploring the Delta Quadrant."

"No ... Voyager is lost," Janeway explained, although all that seemed very distant.

"I see," said the woman from between pursed lips. It was difficult to understand what this information meant to her.

She fell silent, chewing her bottom lip a little.

"So this is ... Sha Ri?" Janeway asked her, pronouncing the name of the prison carefully. She had no recollection of her journey, nothing from after her trial.

"Yes," came the sullen reply. "Whatever you did, however you violated Kruger Teachings, you'll be here for the rest of your life."

Janeway chewed the inside of her mouth. She could still taste blood. "I didn't think it was going to be pleasant," she said dully.

"It is not," she was told. Clearly the reception she had received was not unusual. Indeed, looking closely at the woman, Janeway could see her skin was pitted around her left eye, scarred and slightly uneven. There was a long scar on her right cheek as well.

She was a beautiful young human, though. In her late twenties, probably, and of Scandinavian descent judging by the colour of her skin and hair.

"What's your name?" Janeway asked gently. "How did you get to the Delta Quadrant?"

"That is not your concern," the woman snapped. 

"Oh. I'm ... sorry," she offered.

The woman bit her lip sullenly and looked away. "You need to understand some things, Captain," she spat irritably. "This is my cell, Fresh Meat don't get cells. You're here because I have allowed you to live."

"You've ALLOWED it?"

"Yes," she said. "You are a weak human, and you would have been killed by the other prisoners within a very short time. Or you would have starved. Fresh Meat are not allowed a share of the food rations."

"I see."

"It is harsh but efficient," the young woman said with arrogance. "Overcrowding would be a serious problem under current Kruger Teaching."

Janeway nodded slowly. With such a strict sentencing system, she had wondered how they managed to accommodate all the lifers.

"So you've saved me?" she challenged.

"Yes," the young woman told her with a hint of pride. 

"Why?"

There was no reply. Clearly the young woman wasn't ready to answer that question. She stared at Janeway instead with her strange off-canter gaze. One of her eyes was tilted slightly inward.

Janeway changed tack. "How did YOU survive?" she asked. "Aren't you a 'weak human' too?"

The woman's eyes flashed to Janeway's, bold and proud. "I am Borg," she said. "The Kruger are of inferior power and strength to me."

Janeway's breath caught in her chest. "Borg?!" she repeated. So far Voyager had seen no indication of Borg activity in the Delta Quadrant.

"I am Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One," she said, suddenly seeming even taller.

"An assimilated human ..." Janeway marvelled, gazing at her even closer. Now she could see the telltale grey of implants under the skin, the slight discolouration of the veins. And those scars ... obviously they weren't from conflicts with the other inmates after all. "You were freed from the Borg?"

"I am no longer part of the Collective," Seven of Nine confirmed. She didn't exactly sound happy about it though.

Janeway looked at her curiously. This was amazing to her. Her own contact with the Borg had been very limited, and she had certainly never met anyone who had been freed after assimilation. "Were you Starfleet?" she asked gently. "Wolf 359, maybe?"

"No," the former drone snapped back, as if the very concept was disgusting to her.

"Then how ..."

"That is irrelevant," Seven of Nine interrupted. She stepped in through the door and slammed it behind her suddenly, making Janeway's eardrums hurt. She marched right up to Janeway, towering above her semi-naked form, a cruel twist to her lips. 

"All YOU need to know, fresh meat, is that you are alive because I allow you to be alive. That is all that should concern you."

Janeway bristled. She had never liked intimidation. "Is that so?" she glared.

"It IS," Seven of Nine insisted with a defiant jutting of her chin. "And if you wish to continue living, you will comply."

Janeway stood up as straight as she could on her cold, bruised legs and looked at the tall woman with all the contempt she could muster. "I'll take my chances," she told her in an icy voice.

Seven of Nine pushed her back onto the bed. "That would be foolish," she said.

Janeway struggled back to her feet, determined not to let this young bully get the better of her. She had been beaten up once too often today. "You'll have to assimilate me," she hissed.

Before she had a chance to react, Seven of Nine grabbed her round the neck and slammed her against the metal of the cell door, so hard it winded her. Her hand gripped hard, crushing the Captain's windpipe until she could barely breathe. She was so close Janeway could feel her breath gust, hot and moist, on her face. 

"Resistance is FUTILE," she jeered. Then she stuck her tubules into Janeway's neck.

It hurt, oh God it hurt. The Captain couldn't help but cry out in pain. The tubules were sharp and went right into the muscle, delivering a shot of something hideously cold and inhuman.

Seven of Nine released her and she fell to her knees, gasping and spluttering. There was something wrong. There was something terribly wrong. The cold was spreading from her neck, running like ice-fire through her veins, fizzing, bubbling. She couldn't make her legs work. Nothing worked at all. 

She tried to crawl, and ended up on her face. Seven of Nine's boot kicked her and rolled her over. She couldn't so much as move her little finger. Something else seemed to be breathing for her.

She looked up and saw Seven of Nine's face, looking down at her like the Angel of Death. Then everything went black and nothing was her own.

\---

When she woke up, she felt better. She was tied to the bed, but her body felt strong, powerful. Her own again. She didn't feel sick and she could see perfectly well.

Seven of Nine was nowhere to be seen.

She sat up, pulling at the bonds around her wrists, which seemed to be made of torn clothing. Strips torn from her own tank top. Her belly was now decidedly bare. She was securely tied and she couldn't even get near the knots with her fingers. She inched up the bed to try them with her teeth but was interrupted by the scrape of the cell door as Seven of Nine returned.

She was carrying a bundle and a bottle, and she had a set of angry red scratches across her face. Whatever she had brought back she had clearly had to fight for. Janeway noticed there was blood on her garment too, though it was too dark to be her own.

"You have regained consciousness," she said when she saw Janeway.

"Yes," she replied flatly. "Would mind untying me?"

Seven of Nine ignored her. "How do you feel?" she asked.

"Better," she told her warily.

Seven of Nine nodded. "The nanoprobes have healed your injuries and repaired the damage to your system caused by the transport."

"Nanoprobes?" Janeway asked. She wasn't familiar with the term.

"Borg technology. They are programmed to perform a variety of functions within the host's body. Borg drones use them for repair, integration and assimilation."

"That's what you injected into my neck?" Janeway gasped.

"Do not be concerned," Seven of Nine informed her. "They will not damage you in any way."

She would have been lying if she'd said she was anything but concerned.

The former drone was untying her bundle, which turned out to contain food rations and a collection of rather threadbare clothing. She threw a dull red tunic at Janeway. "For you," she told her. "I noticed they had taken your clothing."

Janeway saw her chance. "I can't put this on while I'm tied up."

"Later," she was told. "I have brought you some food."

Now this did excite her. Seven of Nine came over to her and pushed a portion of a ration cake into her mouth. It was dry, salty and altogether unappetising, but it was also the first thing she had eaten since her trial and she swallowed it hungrily. It was swiftly followed by a long slug from the water bottle. It was just about the best thing she'd ever tasted. Seven of Nine continued, breaking off portions and pushing them into her mouth until the whole thing was gone and her hunger was all but sated.

With water and ration cake running down her chin, she took another wary look at the woman who had appointed herself her protector. The scratches she had noticed earlier were deep and desperate, although they were already healing thanks to Seven of Nine's enhanced Borg physiology. It made her think.

"Where did you get this?" she asked. "The rations and the clothes?"

Seven of Nine met her gaze with a defiant stare. "I killed a woman in Gamma Section," she said. "She was sick and weak and did not need her rations or her clothing."

Janeway wondered for a moment if this was true. The young woman seemed eager to shock her, to impress on her how deadly life in Sha Ri was.

"That's terrible," she said carefully.

Indeed, Seven of Nine squared her shoulders and made a face of Borg superiority. "You required nutrition," she said. "And clothing."

Janeway nodded slowly. Then she raised her shackled wrists to Seven of Nine's attention. "Let me get dressed, then," she said.

The former Borg eyed her suspiciously. "You will comply?" she asked. "You will not try to escape?"

"Would you allow me to escape?"

"No," said Seven of Nine.

"Then you don't have anything to worry about, do you."

They locked eyes for a long moment, and then Seven of Nine grabbed Janeway's hands, none too gently, and expertly untied the knots that bound her.

Janeway massaged the blood back into her hands, and then pulled on the trousers and tunic Seven of Nine had brought her. Despite their obvious age, both were clean and well-preserved. Obviously their previous owner had been fastidious. Janeway hoped Seven of Nine's tale of murder was just a tale.

"Thank you," she said nonetheless.

Seven of Nine nodded, watching her carefully, presumably for any signs that she might escape. After dressing, though, Janeway sat back on the bed, tucking her legs up underneath her and hugging her arms about herself to stave off the cold. Now that she was more aware of her surroundings she was really noticing the temperature. It couldn't have been many degrees above freezing.

The former Borg clearly didn't feel it. She was dressed quite lightly, in a tight-fitting sleeveless vest and loose trousers. Janeway took the opportunity to study her for really the first time. This close, her Borg heritage was obvious. All across her arms were scars and discolouration where her implants had been, and there was a considerable amount of Borg technology still grafted to her left hand. Janeway shuddered at the memory of those tubules penetrating her neck. That had not been pleasant.

Seven of Nine broke off another piece of ration cake and passed it over to her. She chewed it slowly, turning the flavourless lump over and over in her mouth for quite a while before swallowing it.

"What's your name?" she asked then in a soft voice. "I can't call you Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of ... whatever ..."

"Seven is acceptable," she was told brusquely.

"No, I meant your human name. Before you were assimilated."

"That is irrelevant."

"Don't you remember?"

There was silence from Seven of Nine.

"You don't, do you?"

"My human designation is irrelevant!"

Janeway just looked at her, trying to reach out and make contact with her eyes. "I had no idea," she said. "I had no idea the Borg took so much when they assimilated people." She had heard, only distantly, of the difficulty Jean-Luc Picard had endured after he was freed from the Collective. Not once had she ever imagined ... "That's tragic," she said softly.

Seven looked back at her with an expression that, oddly, was rather close to horror. She didn't say anything.

Overcome with a sense of unimaginable loss, Janeway reached out to the young woman, putting her hand over the metallic webbing that covered the pale pink flesh of her fingers.

Seven slapped her hand away, sharply. "We do not require your pity!" she barked.

"We?" Janeway asked, softly, cradling her injured hand.

"I do not require it," she corrected. "I am Borg."

"Yes," Janeway nodded. "But ... not now. You have no link to the Hive, do you. Not at all."

"No," Seven concurred reluctantly, biting her lip. Janeway could see she was going to have to tread carefully to avoid angering her again.

"How did you escape?" the Captain asked gently.

"Irrelevant!" the young woman cried again, and her eyes blazed with something Janeway was sure would lead to violence if she provoked it. Clearly these were wounds that ran deep.

"All right," she said softly, soothingly. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

Seven straightened her back and lifted her chin haughtily again, regarding Janeway with something that was close to disgust. "You should be careful, Captain Janeway," she spat. "I do not think you appreciate the danger you are in here in Sha Ri."

"Well, I haven't exactly been given a warm welcome so far," agreed Janeway.

"If you attempt to leave this cell alone, you will be killed," she was told. As plain as that.

"Oh, is that so?" she asked. This was starting to annoy her. It seemed that the young woman responded to any attempt to befriend her a show of almost threatening superiority.

"It IS," the former drone declared.

Janeway cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps you underestimate me," she said softly. "I was sick before ... because of the transport ..."

"No," Seven interrupted. "You are not fully in possession of the facts." 

"I see. And you aren't going to fill me in, I take it?"

Seven regarded her for a long moment. "There is a woman, a Kruger," she said eventually. "Her name is Sarbell. She considers herself to be in charge here, despite the fact that she is a prisoner no different to the rest of us." 

"Oh?"

"I have opposed her on a number of occasions, and she considers me her adversary."

"You opposed her?"

"I have always refused to join her and become one of her ... her drones, and she dislikes that," Seven said. "We have had numerous confrontations."

Janeway could quite imagine it. This proud, angry young woman was not the sort who would easily submit to the will of another, especially someone from a race the Borg considered weak and inferior. 

"You believe she would hurt me too?" she asked.

"Yes," Seven concurred. "If Sarbell realises that we are of the same race, and that I have ... an interest in your survival, she will stop at nothing to kill you." 

"Charming," said Janeway heavily. "So ... she has many 'drones' does she? Many followers?"

"The majority of the prisoners are loyal to Sarbell. Through fear. However, most of them are equally afraid of me because I am Borg. I do not believe they will attack me. But you they would see as a soft target. In their eyes you would be vulnerable and weak."

Janeway swallowed a little. It was true, she hadn't realised the extent to which her life was probably at risk.

"If she obtained you, she would not show you mercy," Seven continued. "In fact your prolonged torture and death would probably be considered justice for the women I have killed," the drone said with that same, odd arrogance. "Women she was extremely fond of who attempted to incapacitate and murder me."

"Seven!" she gasped, unable to help herself. "How many? How many have you killed?"

"Twenty seven," the drone said with that same arrogance and superiority.

Janeway's blood dropped a couple of degrees. Plain and simple, this woman was a serial killer. "That's terrible," she said in a cold voice.

"Their deaths were quick and it was self defence," the young drone justified. "It has proven an effective deterrent. There are very few who would challenge me now, even if I forced a direct confrontation with Sarbell."

Janeway was still too stunned to speak. She was starting to wonder if it wouldn't be better to take her chances outside, hiding and scavenging out of sight. Seven of Nine was clearly dangerous and unpredictable, and thought nothing of murder. Nothing. She wasn't sure she fancied being cooped up in this cell for the rest of her life under that kind of threat.

Seven was getting up, tidying her cell, pouring a little of the water onto the vomit on the floor and tidying the rags she had ripped from Janeway's tank top.

Janeway looked at the door. She didn't think it was locked. If she ran for it, she might make it before the former Borg caught her, forced her back ... but then she didn't like the thought of the consequences if she misjudged the young woman's speed. Besides, still wasn't sure of her own strength yet. She didn't want to be out there among Sarbell's followers if she was going to drop dead from some side-effect of the transporters.

"Is there any more food?" she asked Seven.

"No," she was told. "The next ration drop will be in the morning."

"The morning?" Janeway asked. She looked around her, trying to find some clue that would help her differentiate between night and day in this place. "What time is it now?" 

"2329," Seven told her, presumably from some internal chronometer. "You should attempt to get some sleep."

Janeway shook her head, although she was pretty tired. "I've been unconscious for most of the day," she said.

"You need to rest," she was told. "The transport has damaged you and the nanoprobes are unable to fully compensate. I will top up your dosage, and then you must attempt to sleep."

Janeway backed away as the young woman approached, proffering her hand with its cold, deadly tubules. "No," she said.

"They will not harm you," Seven said. "They have saved you weeks of recovery time already."

"No," she said again. "I ... I'm not comfortable with it, Seven. The Borg ..."

"Are efficient medics and have developed many techniques unknown to the Federation. They do not waste drones on treatable conditions."

"How do I know this isn't a form of assimilation?"

Seven's voice was cold and dispassionate. "Because I am no longer linked to the Hive," she said.

She was silent then, looking more vulnerable and oddly more human than she ever had since Janeway had met her. 

The Captain decided to probe a little further. "How long has it been?" she asked. "Since you were Borg?"

There was a long, long silence, but Seven didn't seem angry. "Eight years," she said eventually. Her voice was calm and steady, despite the trauma this must have been for her.

"How did it happen?" Janeway asked her. "Did you escape somehow?"

"No," Seven's voice was low and quiet. "My connection to the Collective was severed after my vessel became incapacitated."

"A cube ..."

"A scout sphere," Seven corrected. "It crashed on Planet 1865 Alpha eight years ago."

"And ... you were freed? You became an individual?"

"From that time, I ceased to be Borg," Seven of Nine confirmed.

"Were you the only one?" Janeway asked gently, trying to get a picture of what it must have been like. "On the sphere?"

"The other drones were damaged beyond repair," she replied. "I attempted to salvage them and to use their components to construct a beacon, but I failed."

Once again, the young woman fell silent. Janeway felt obliged to ask another question to keep the conversation flowing. "A beacon? To contact the Borg?"

"Yes. I was aware that I only had a short space of time before my human physiology reasserted itself, and my implants were rejected. If that had occurred I would have been irretrievable."

"Irretrievable?"

"I would have died," Seven amended. 

She was looking at Janeway now with wide, exposed eyes, and something told the Captain she hadn't really talked about this since it had taken place. Perhaps she needed to get it off her chest.

"What happened? How did you survive?" Janeway asked.

"I was located instead by a group of medical scientists from Species 872, travelling back from a convention. They considered me to be quite a challenge."

"They removed your implants?"

"Yes," Seven said angrily. "Against my will."

"Against your will?" Janeway said. 

"They were foolish. They had little experience with the Borg and did not realise what they were dealing with. They were curious about me and transported me to their ship believing my implants would be able to help them learn how to overcome assimilation. They were attempting to study me and removed them all."

"You ... you weren't HAPPY about it?"

"No," spat Seven. "We were mostly unconscious and merely relieved not to be alone any more. We did not realise that they planned to ... to MUTILATE us."

She had slipped back into Borg terminology. It was chilling to see how easily it came back to her. She was breathing heavily, eyes wild and enraged. "They took advantage of us," she stuttered. "They should have let us die."

"No," Janeway insisted gently. She moved closer to Seven, trying to reach out to her in some way. She had to admit she admired the compassion of these people, whoever they were. There weren't many races of people who would have risked a contact with the Borg to help a dying drone, even if their motives weren't completely unselfish. "You shouldn't feel animosity towards them. They did help you." 

Seven looked bitter and confused. "I ... I did not know what I should feel," she admitted. "So much was confusing for me at that time."

"I'm sure it was," Janeway empathised. She was starting to get a picture of what it must have been like for the young woman, separated from the Collective and suddenly, awfully, alone in a distant part of the galaxy. Those first few days on the planet, particularly, must have been horrific. No wonder she was so confused.

"So ... you had been all alone ... on that planet? For the first time?" she asked, eager to keep the dialogue going.

"Yes," Seven said. 

"That must have been awful, Seven. Terrifying."

The former Borg looked at her sharply, and seemed about to deny it beneath a mask of Borg superiority, but simply nodded instead.

"It was ... dark. Cold. There were native lifeforms in the vegetation. I was extremely afraid." Her voice trembled slightly. "I became irrational and paranoid about a species I recalled from before my assimilation. A species known as monsters."

"Monsters?" Janeway gaped.

"Yes," said Seven, a little defensively. "My Papa had warned me about them on a number of occasions. That they would appear and consume me if I was not well-behaved."

"My God ..." said Janeway. 

"I had not been well behaved. I was unable to obey my bedtime when I was Borg. I could not brush my hair or my teeth. I had failed to look after my hamster after I was assimilated."

Janeway's mouth fell open. No ... she couldn't have been. It wasn't possible. It was too hideous. 

"Seven?" she asked in a whisper of a voice. "How ... how old were you when you were assimilated?"

"Six," Seven said quite dispassionately.

The Captain gasped. The horror ... the pure, unadulterated horror of it. That poor child. This poor woman. Her whole life had been stolen. "My God, Seven ..." Janeway whispered. 

"We were placed in a maturation chamber, and after we emerged, we were a drone for sixteen years," she said with that same strange pride.

"And ... and your parents? They were assimilated also?"

"Yes. The Borg detected our vessel ... the Raven ...." She faded out, wrinkling her brow as if trying to remember something very distant. After a while she just shook her head very slowly. Nothing more was coming.

"I'm so sorry. I ... I can't begin to imagine how awful ..."

"No," snapped Seven, suddenly waking up from her trance. "You do not understand. Your compassion for the child is misplaced, Captain." She stared at Janeway, cold and imperious. "I am Borg. I will always be Borg," she said.

Janeway couldn't catch her breath. "No, Seven ... you can't ... you don't believe that ..."

Seven chewed her cheek. "I do believe that," she said.

"You mean ... you actually WANT to be in the Hive?" Janeway gaped.

"Yes," confirmed Seven. "Individuality has destroyed me. Individuality is the great destroyer of ALL order and perfection. It has been horrible."

"I know it must have been a difficult adjustment ..."

"I can not function this way!" the young woman exploded. "It has been eight years and I have not adjusted. I am unable to conform to society ... on any world. I find compliance with erratic, irrational cultures impossible. I have faced much prejudice and persecution."

"Seven, that's awful, I know, but ..."

"It is typical!" she cried. "I have been attacked fifty-eight times, on thirty different worlds. Always motivated by revenge, or hatred, or mistrust. You yourself have expressed compassion for me as an individual, and yet you are wary of my motivations when I try to help you with your injuries. It is typical of species who live as individuals. They allow their fears to control them, and I do not wish to live my life that way!"

"I understand ..."

"You do not! How can you possibly understand? It is the very reason I am here. I was charged with a crime I did not commit and sentenced to life because they feared me!"

"My God. You were set up? Framed?"

"Yes," the drone cried, bitterly. "The murder of a young male on a cargo vessel. I was not even in the system when it took place, and yet I was somehow charged and convicted."

"That's terrible ..."

"The Kruger are a cruel and corrupt race whose teachings are based on massive hypocrisy."

Janeway couldn't argue. Seven stood up to pace the confines of the cell, her hands balled into fists of frustration and rage.

"It is a decision they will live to regret, however," she said darkly.

Janeway didn't like the sound of that. The young drone had something of a deranged look in her eye. "What do you mean?" she breathed.

Seven cocked her head haughtily. "I have utilised my time in Sha Ri well, Captain," she explained. "I have decided I will not fail where I failed on Planet 1865 Alpha. The Borg will find this drone."

"Find you?" Janeway asked. She wasn't sure she understood. Then it dawned on her. "A beacon. You're trying to construct a beacon."

"Yes," confirmed Seven. "I will struggle with individuality no longer. It is unproductive and futile and I cannot tolerate it. I will construct the beacon and the Borg will come here."

"To the prison?"

"Yes."

"Seven ..." Janeway was breathless. "You ... you can't be serious."

"I am serious."

"They ... they'd assimilate everyone. Everyone. Don't you understand?"

"I understand perfectly."

The Captain sat back on the bed, unable to close her mouth. 

"I believe it is you who does not understand, Captain. Assimilation is not to be feared," she was told then. "To be one ... ONE ... with the Collective is to achieve perfection." The drone was getting distinctly misty-eyed.

That was just about enough for Janeway. She felt sick to her stomach and she wasn't about to hold back any longer.

"Perfection?" she asked. "Oh, I doubt that. I've never known 'perfection' that takes a child from her parents, separating them forever. You have to be kidding. Taking an innocent girl, against her will, mutilating her and implanting her with technology to control her very thoughts? Forcing her to live her life as a slave, denying her even the most basic of freedoms? From where I'm sitting that sounds very little like perfection."

The former drone's eyes blazed. "You are small minded, Captain," she spat. 

"I don't think so."

"I have been Borg, and I have also sampled your vaunted freedom and individuality. There is no one more qualified to decide which of the two is closer to perfection."

Janeway took a breath. "Okay, fine. I might grant that you are an individual, you've been an individual for eight years, and I might grant that you can make that decision for yourself. If you want to become a Borg again, maybe that's up to you. But how many people are there in this prison? How many on the Kruger homeworld and the colonies in this system?"

"I do not care."

"Oh, but that's my point. You should care. If you had an ounce of the humanity you claim, you would care deeply."

"Well I do not. Why should I? The Kruger are a corrupt and evil race. They deserve assimilation. They commit many injustices. They imprison people wrongfully, exploit them for their own ends, claim to be enlightening them with their strict Teachings and abandon their own doctrines when it serves their purpose."

Janeway lifted her eyebrows. "That sounds a lot like another race I know," she said. "The Borg."

For a few seconds, Seven looked as though she was going to murder the Captain. "The Borg are different," she snarled in an icy voice.

"How?" challenged Janeway.

"They are actually capable of providing the perfection they promise."

"I don't think they are," the Captain retorted. "I really don't. You know something? You are the only freed drone I have ever heard of who wanted to return, Seven. The ONLY one."

"That's not possible."

"I think it is. And you want to know what else I think?"

"No," Seven spat.

But Janeway was on a roll. "I think the only reason you want to go back is because you're afraid. You fear individuality, you fear weakness and you fear loneliness. You want to go back because ultimately, you're a coward, Seven."

That was too much. The former drone lashed out at Janeway, grabbing her by the front of the tunic she had brought her. She dragged her off the bed and dropped her to the cold floor. "I'm a coward?!" she roared. "Do you believe that if I attempted to kill you, you could offer sufficient resistance?"

"I'd die trying," Janeway groaned from the ex-Borg's feet.

There was a tense, charged moment then, where Seven looked for all the world like she was about to beat the Captain to death. Instead she backed away, breathing heavily, her eyes bulging out of her head as she attempted to calm herself.

"You do not understand," she told Janeway in a trembling voice.

"No," Janeway replied. "I can't understand. I know. I know that."

Seven came back to the bed, sitting down heavily on it, resting her head between her hands and staring at a vacant spot on the floor. 

Despite the fact she was still a little shaken from being manhandled again, Janeway moved closer to the obviously troubled young woman. She put a hand on the rough blanket beside her.

"I wish you could come back to my ship," she said softly. "I wish you could. I have a crew of one hundred and fifty, mostly humans. We may be stuck out here in the Delta Quadrant, but we live by the ideals and principles of the Federation still. We still have an essentially human society."

Janeway sighed, thinking of her beautiful ship. God alone knew where they were now. She hoped Chakotay hadn't given up on her, that he was still in negotiations with the Kruger to have her released, but in truth, she didn't know. If the Kruger wanted, they could probably arrest the whole crew and have them imprisoned for life. How much would her First Officer risk to get the Captain back? 

"Humans?" Seven asked in a very small voice.

"Yes," Janeway told her. "Like I said, most of my crew. We're far from home, but most days, it doesn't feel like we are." The Captain was getting a lump in her throat. "You'd feel differently if you were on Voyager, Seven. With your own kind."

"The Borg are my own kind!" Seven wailed desperately. She didn't sound the arrogant drone any more though. In fact she sounded a lot more like the scared six year old.

"No ..." Janeway soothed. "They're all you've ever known, but there's a difference ..."

The young ex drone looked up, and one of her eyes was moist with tears. "That's irrelevant," she sobbed.

Slowly, the Captain pulled herself up so she was sitting beside the young woman. She placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's not," she whispered. "It's really not."

"No!" barked Seven. "Don't touch me!"

Janeway took her hands away. "All right," she said soothingly. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't want to upset you."

"I am not upset," Seven lied.

"Good," said Janeway. "I'm pleased."

They lapsed into silence then, broken only when Janeway yawned. She tried to stifle it, but it didn't escape the astute ex-Borg.

"You require rest," she told the Captain.

"I'm fine," Janeway insisted.

"You should sleep."

Janeway sighed, realising it was useless to protest. Besides, she really didn't think the young woman was likely to hurt her, at least not tonight. "All right," she said. "You're probably right."

Seven nodded, satisfied.

"What about you?"

"I do not sleep," Seven said. With that, she lifted up her vest to show Janeway a glowing green implant on her back. It fizzed and flashed with some mysterious form of power. "The scientists who rescued me adapted part of a Borg alcove to regenerate me. It was an intriguing idea, an approach completely unknown to the Borg themselves." 

"Fascinating ..." The Captain fingered the edges of the implant gently, marvelling at the way it blended so well with Seven's pale skin. Like it was a part of her. It didn't look ugly or mutilated or anything. It was more like a beautiful piece of jewellery than anything else.

"Yes," Seven agreed. "It is most efficient."

The former Borg lowered her shirt again, and Janeway moved back under the thin blanket, trying to tuck it around her as much as she could. She would need all the protection she could get against the biting cold if she were to sleep properly.

Seven came up close, kneeling next to Janeway's head, so close the Captain could feel the other woman's breath on her cheek. For a rather peculiar moment, she thought Seven might kiss her goodnight.

Instead she said "Will you allow me to give you another dose of nanoprobes?"

Janeway almost refused, and then she remembered the hurt the young woman felt at her earlier rejection. It was true she wasn't comfortable with the Borg technology in her body, but she had felt much better since the last treatment, too.

She offered her neck to Seven of Nine and sank into the sharp oblivion that the nanoprobes offered.

\---

It took her a few moments to adjust to the lighting when she woke up: she was much more used to the muted, almost pastel lights of her bedroom on Voyager. It was a lot noisier here, too. Outside she could hear the calling, shouting and screaming of the other prisoners.

She turned over in the hard, lumpy bed, blinking sleep from her eyes. Seven of Nine was by the washbasin, cleaning herself with a piece of rag. Despite herself, Janeway's breath caught; the young woman was stripped to the waist, and her body was something to behold. 

Her skin was littered with implants and the remains of implants, the bright silver of them catching in the vivid lights. Borg starbursts dotted a path up the young woman's long back, augmented by that beautiful green regeneration device. At the base of her neck she was laced with lines of pulsing silver, looking for all the world like a necklace of living mercury. Truly, she looked like a work of art. 

But it was more than that. Seven of Nine was an incredible looking human as well. She had a small, tapered waist and pale pink skin that looked almost invitingly soft. Added to that, the young woman happened to be in possession of the most beautiful pair of breasts Janeway had ever seen. They were amazing. Large, round, gravity defying, with pink nipples that just happened to be stiff from the cold right then. Water beaded and ran down them as the ex-drone washed silently and methodically, dripping off those incredible taut peaks. 

Janeway's mouth hung open. My God, she looked fantastic. She wouldn't have looked out of place on one of that pervert Paris' holodeck programs. 

Seven of Nine turned round then, noticing she was up and about. "You are awake," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," the Captain managed to croak, eyes still locked on Seven's magnificent bosom.

"Excellent," the young woman said, seemingly unmindful of Janeway's blatant ogling. She pulled her vest back on and straightened out her hair. "I intended to wake you," she told the Captain. "We only have water for another thirty minutes."

"Right," said Janeway. "I should wash ..." she said, still not really able to concentrate properly. 

"Yes," said Seven. "You should fill some containers for the day as well, for drinking and if you wish to use the toilet. I do not pass waste matter, so I do not require it, but you will need to fill the toilet with water before using it."

Janeway nodded, a little embarrassed. She hadn't really appreciated the awkwardness of living in such close quarters like this.

"The containers are under the bed," Seven told her. "I would assist you, but the ration drop takes place in eleven minutes. I have to go to the main transporter site to claim our share."

"Of course," said Janeway. She hadn't been exactly hopping to undress in front of the nubile young drone anyway. Not that she thought Seven would pay her physical attributes any attention whatsoever, but it didn't stop her feeling self-conscious.

As Seven prepared herself, Janeway went to the basin and began to run herself some water to wash in. Naturally, it was freezing, but it looked clean enough. She wet the rag and started to wipe her face, surprised by just how much better a wash made her feel.

Seven pushed past her to dig into one of the boxes beneath the sink, producing what looked very much like a home made knife. The blade was dull and encrusted with blood. Janeway shuddered and looked at the young woman in horror as she concealed it in the side of her boot.

"Sarbell will be there," Seven said, as if that was the only explanation she needed. 

Janeway nodded grimly. "Be careful," she warned.

A ghost of a smile crossed the young drone's lips, and then she left.

Alone in the cell, Janeway took her time washing herself, going to the toilet and finally filling the large plastic containers with water for the rest of the day. She dragged them back under the bed before settling back on top of the blankets to wait for her meal.

She wasn't exactly comfortable with letting Seven of Nine do the dirty work; she was beginning to feel distinctly like a kept woman, but she wasn't convinced that could be helped. If even half of what Seven had told her about Sha Ri was true, Janeway would be a fool to venture out of this cell any time soon. No, right now her plan would be to lay low until the cavalry arrived. Or at least until she had more of an idea of what she was dealing with.

She stared at each of the four walls in turn, starting to feel slightly claustrophobic. What if the worst were true? What if Chakotay had given up on her, and Voyager had left the system? What if this really was a life sentence? She wasn't sure she could cope with that. What a ridiculous and undignified end to her career. She could just imagine Voyager getting home without her, the crew getting home to heroes' welcomes and pardons for the Maquis, and her ... still here. Her involvement being brushed under the carpet, hushed up, classified maybe, all because of one moment of stupidity.

Tears started to prick the back of her eyes at the thought of it, and she bit her lip to keep herself from crying. She was just being silly, she told herself. They'd find her. They would. Hell, she'd probably be back in the Captain's chair by the end of the week. And Seven ... well, Seven would be with her. On Voyager, among her own kind, meeting humans for the first time, learning about her own culture. Leaving all this behind her.

Janeway really believed she would.

She held this thought in her mind as she drifted off to sleep on the cold, hard bed.

\---

She was woken by the sound of a woman screaming. For a moment she was disoriented: her thoughts of Voyager as she'd fallen asleep confused her and for a moment, she actually thought she was back on board her beloved ship.

But no, she was in the cell, Seven of Nine's cell, and the drone still hadn't returned. Janeway got to her feet warily, trying to decide how close the screaming was. It didn't sound far away at all.

Suddenly, something slammed into the cell door from the other side, making it shake violently. It was rapidly followed by another hideous, blood-curdling scream. Janeway's blood ran cold and every hair on the back of her neck stood up. This was right outside.

Frantically she looked around for something, anything, she could arm herself with. She wasn't sure how secure the cell door was and she would be trapped like a rat if they managed to get inside. 

Then she remembered the box under the sink from which Seven of Nine had produced that makeshift knife earlier. Perhaps she had more than one. Yanking the carton out, the Captain began to rummage through it, finding it filled for the most part with junk, bits and pieces of dismantled equipment, things that looked like they ran on implants removed from Seven's own body. Janeway didn't have time to examine them though. She grabbed hold of one, a long, cylindrical concoction that fitted nicely into the palm of her hand. It wasn't much of a weapon but at least it had some weight behind it.

Bracing herself, she edged towards the door to listen. Outside she could hear a fierce fight going on, screaming and shouting and scuffling that seemed to involve several of the inmates.

"Get her!" she could hear one particularly shrill Kruger cry.

Something electrical crackling, like a force field.

Another scream, pain and rage.

"Go on!" yelled the same woman as before.

A slam of a body onto the floor. A muffled groan.

"This attack is futile. Stay away."

Seven of Nine.

Seven. They were attacking Seven!

No more thought than that. None at all. Janeway flung open the cell door and threw herself out, screaming like a banshee. Swinging her weapon at the women, three hideous bedraggled Kruger women who were attacking they young drone, she managed to strike one across the face and then the other straight in the teeth. She kicked the other one (who was lying on the floor dead and bleeding anyway) in the ribs for good measure.

That was the element of surprise gone. They jumped her almost immediately, grabbing hold of her by the hair, the clothes, anywhere they could get purchase. She couldn't break loose. They pulled at her, trying to tear her limb from limb, their filthy fingernails digging into her flesh, their breath and spit all over her. Janeway struggled and spat right back, elbowing one of them in the neck and managing to get a foot into the midsection of another.

A hideous clawed hand was closing over her throat, squeezing off her air even as she fought them desperately. They were too strong. She saw stars in front of her eyes, red and then black, and slowly, slowly, she was losing the battle against the darkness ...

Then, suddenly, Janeway could breathe again. Beautiful oxygen filling her lungs. She hit the ground hard, dropped by the Kruger, and lay there on her back gasping wretchedly as she listened to them scream. 

Seven was above her, Seven. Beautiful Seven. In Janeway's hazy, oxygen-starved vision, she looked like an angel, her blonde hair framed by a halo of electric light, her pink mouth twisted into a beatific snarl.

She had one of the Kruger by the throat, holding the scrawny woman so high her feet were off the floor, twitching. Her fingers, the fingers of her Borg hand, were digging into the Kruger's windpipe either side. Not just digging, though. Buried. Rivulets of blood welling up around each fingertip. Dripping.

Janeway hauled herself up onto her ass and dragged herself backwards towards the cell. Horrified. The other Kruger screamed and turned to flee. Her cries echoed the whole way down the corridor, kept echoing as Seven drained the woman's body of all signs of life and dropped her to the floor with the body of her friend. 

The ex-Borg turned to Janeway, her eyes glassy and robotic. Utterly inhuman.

"Are you damaged?" she asked the Captain.

Janeway shook her head, unable to speak.

Seven of Nine nodded and then picked her up too, as casually and effortlessly as if she were a tricorder. She set the Captain back on her feet and escorted her back to the cell.

Once inside, she secured the door and then turned to Janeway, backhanding her with a vicious slap that left the Captain reeling. 

"You are foolish!" she screamed.

Janeway blinked away stars from the blow, dizzy. "I ... wha ..." she gasped.

"Those women belonged to Sarbell!" Seven continued. "The one that escaped will inform her that I have you!"

"No, I ..."

"You have endangered yourself!" Seven accused viciously. "And allowed them to steal our food. We will have nothing to eat today!"

"Now wait just a minute," Janeway said, leaping to her feet now that she had recovered her senses. "Those women were attacking you. I came out there to help you. To save you!"

"Your assistance was not required!" the drone spat. "I am more than equipped to defend myself against them."

"So I see ..." Janeway marvelled.

"You do not appreciate the danger you have placed yourself in! If Sarbell realises who you are ... the significance you hold for me ...." The young woman was clearly fuming, beside herself with rage and frustration. 

Janeway was sorry. In truth, she had NOT thought clearly before bursting out to defend Seven of Nine. It had all been instinct.

Gingerly, she went up behind the young drone, placed a hand gently on her back. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't think. I ... I didn't want them to hurt you."

Seven of Nine span round to her, eyes blazing, seemingly ready to give the Captain another mouthful. But when the young woman's eyes met hers, it seemed to Janeway as though all her anger just melted away. Instead, Seven looked rather sorrowful, her pretty mouth downturned.

Their eyes remained locked for several moments before Seven spoke.

"We will have to be vigilant," she said. "Stay together as much as we can."

Janeway nodded. "I'm so sorry, Seven," she said, wanting the young drone to realise. To understand.

Seven of Nine gave her a curt nod, and released her. They both breathed.

It was then Janeway realised that her hand was still tightly curled around the cylindrical piece of equipment she had used as a weapon. It was bent and broken now, smashed as it had been on the faces of the Kruger. She threw it onto the bed and went to the sink to dab at her bruises with the cold washrag.

Wincing and sore, she alleviated as much of the pain as she could with a cold compress and then turned to see if Seven had any bruises. The young woman was sitting on the bed, though, not moving. She was holding the ruined piece of equipment Janeway had just discarded. She looked white.

"Seven?" asked the Captain. "What's the matter?"

"My beacon ..." the young woman managed to stutter. "To contact the Borg."

"What ... that?!" asked Janeway incredulously. But she already knew it was the truth. Looking at it now she noticed a signalling transceiver, a couple of refining nodes, all laced with Borg interfaces to give it that signature. Built from scratch, from the tiniest parts scavenged and repaired and altered. All broken. Ruined. Useless.

The kind of thing that twenty-four hours ago, Seven probably would have killed her for.

She went over to the young woman, getting down on her knees in front of her as she sat there numb on the bed. Symbolically, she took the ruined beacon from Seven's nerveless fingers and then cupped the young woman's cheek in her palm.

"It's okay," she told her gently. "It's okay, because you don't need that beacon now. You don't. Now you have me, and we're going to get out of here without the Borg. You hear me, Seven? I have a ship out there, filled with a Starfleet crew who are looking for me right now. We'll find a way to contact them, we'll make a new beacon if we have to, and they'll come for us. They will. We can leave here in my ship and never look back."

Seven was looking at her, her eyes big and wide. "And then what?" she asked breathlessly.

"Then we go home," Janeway told her. "We set a course for Earth and leave this all behind us, you and me, us and my crew, safe ... and ... protected and ... and loved. Surrounded by my crew, our friends, our future. On Voyager."

Seven burst into tears. 

Her beautiful face just cracked, and then she was sobbing, desperate and overwhelmed. Janeway folded the young woman into her arms and held her close, cradling her head against her shoulder and rocking her and shushing her. Telling her it was all going to be all right.

Seven clung to her, fingers digging hard into the Captain's back. Needing her, accepting her. Loving her even. But even as she soothed and comforted the beautiful young Borg, Janeway thought of the Kruger woman who lay dead in the corridor, the marks from these very fingers embedded in her throat.

\---

Later, Seven of Nine went out to get more food. She came back with some ration cakes, the same as before, and the same as before, she bore marks from the struggle she had endured to get them. 

The two of them ate in near silence as the marks healed quickly, and by the time they were done, the young woman's skin was as pale and flawless as ever. They drank some of the water stored under the bed and then started a discussion about how to modify the ruined beacon to send out a Federation signal.

Using the limited tools Seven had fashioned while she had been in the prison, they made a pretty good job of dissecting the old beacon, and Janeway had to admit she got quite an education in subspace field harmonics in the process. Some of the Borg techniques Seven had used in its construction were completely unknown back in the Alpha Quadrant.

Janeway quickly became confident that their goal could be accomplished. The Federation beacon was far simpler than the original Borg one, and they already possessed the vast majority of the parts they needed. The rest, Seven assured her, could be adapted. They were confident of a quick success.

What was a problem was that they didn't actually know where Sha Ri was. Was the prison in space somewhere, in orbit? Was it a ship? Was it buried deep underground on a moon or something? All of these presented problems when trying to contact Voyager. So much could get in their way.

Not least of which was the fact that Voyager may not be looking for its Captain any more. For all her assurances to Seven, this was one of Janeway's nagging doubts. It was very possible there would no ship to receive the beacon's signal at all. This one she decided to keep to herself, however. Keeping Seven motivated was very important if they were to succeed.

Looking over to where the ex-Borg had her head buried in her work, Janeway found herself praying that their efforts would not be in vain. She didn't much like the thought of the young woman spending the rest of her life in Sha Ri. No, she'd already had too much taken from her, too much that had made her bitter and violent.

She tried to imagine what Seven would be like on Voyager. How she would fit in. What role would she play? Who would she get on with? Janeway shook her head, trying to suppress a smile at the image of her new friend sitting down to eat a meal in the mess hall, or interacting with the crew on the holodeck. What would that be like? Janeway didn't know, but she was damned determined to find out.

She looked up to find Seven looking at her. Curiously. "Why are you smiling, Captain?" she asked.

Janeway shrugged. "Just happy I got this circuit configuration sorted," she lied.

Seven nodded, and went back to her work, her blonde head dipping again and her neat brow creasing in concentration. She looked so pretty when she was focussed, Janeway thought. So pretty and so fiercely smart.

"It occurs to me, Seven," she began softly, "that while I'm in Sha Ri, I'm not really Captain of anything."

"No," Seven concurred.

"No. So ... maybe you should call me Kathryn."

The young woman did look up then, looking slightly surprised. "Kathryn," she repeated. Then again. "Kathryn."

Janeway nodded, satisfied. It had seemed a little incongruous, having this tall, powerful woman who was protecting her call her a title that represented command and control. She had possessed very little of either since she had been here.

She turned back to her circuitry, prodding rather aimlessly at the node which was giving her problems. Seven of Nine, however, had not returned to her work, but had continued to regard her. 

"Kathryn?" she asked, the name still sounding a little foreign in her mouth. "I wish to ask you a question."

"Mmm?" responded Janeway from around the microfilament she was holding in her teeth.

"How did you come to be imprisoned in Sha Ri?"

Janeway dropped the microfilament. "Wh-what?" she stammered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I am interested in how a Starfleet Captain came to be imprisoned in a facility such as this. Were you falsely accused of a crime, as I was?"

Janeway put her part of the beacon down on the bed. She licked her lips. She had been afraid this question would come up. "No," she sighed eventually, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes and tucking it behind her ear. "I'm afraid I was guilty as charged."

"Oh?" asked Seven.

The Captain lifted her head and looked Seven square in the eyes. There really was no other way but to come out with it. 

"I had sex with a prostitute," she told her.

"A prostitute?" the young drone questioned. "You mean a person who offers sex in exchange for currency?"

"Yes," admitted Janeway in a small voice. "It's not ... something I'm proud of but ... I'm afraid that's what I did."

Seven said nothing, but instead continued to regard Janeway with a completely unreadable gaze.

"It's terrible, I know," the Captain continued, her voice darkening. "Not at all ... Starfleet." She closed her eyes again in something close to shame. "I ... I don't know what my crew must think. They saw ALL the evidence, and there was a lot. It turned out the Kruger government got the ... the woman to solicit me deliberately, to see how 'amoral' I was. How susceptible."

"That is entrapment," said Seven blankly.

"Well, apparently it's standard procedure on the Kruger homeworld. They like to investigate their trading partners thoroughly." Janeway shook her head, trying to sound philosophical about it all and not quite succeeding. "I suppose you could call it entrapment, but that's not an excuse. They knew my weakness, I knew their Teachings, and I took the risk. I didn't exactly expect to have my sex life broadcast to my crew or to end up with a life sentence, but there you have it."

She was very aware that she was talking too much, over-explaining. She very much wanted Seven to say something. Anything.

"Do not be afraid, I will be discreet," Seven reassured her. But she was strange. Tight-lipped somehow.

"Thank you," Janeway managed to say. But it seemed she wasn't finished explaining. "Look," she said rather breathlessly. "It's not something I made a habit of, okay? The prostitute thing. I want you to know that. It's just ... I'm a Starfleet Captain, and a woman with needs, and I ... it makes things a lot simpler."

"I do not require an excuse, Kathryn," Seven said. But still, she seemed bothered. Like she thought less of Janeway.

Hell, who could blame the young woman? Janeway thought less of herself. She turned crimson with embarrassment every time she thought of that holovid being played to her senior staff. That holovid! She doubted very much she would be able to look Tuvok in the eye again, and as for Chakotay ...

Not that he wasn't partial to a firm piece of young blonde himself, but this had been different. Would he still promise to stay by her side, doing whatever he could to make her burden lighter after he'd seen her perform cunnilingus on a seventeen-year-old whore? 

Janeway doubted it somehow.

"Well, now you know," she shrugged, trying to make light of it because she really didn't want to talk about this any more.

"Yes," Seven agreed curtly. "Now I know."

Janeway picked up her piece of the beacon again, scrabbling around with her fingertips for the near-invisible microfilament she'd dropped before. She tried desperately to ignore the fact that Seven had yet to resume work.

The young drone was still staring rather pointedly at her, in fact. Still with that look on her face. Janeway started to get annoyed.

"Look Seven," she said eventually. "I know it's not decent Starfleet behaviour, and I'm certainly not proud of myself, but at the end of the day, it's just sex. I saw you kill a woman with your bare hands not four hours ago, so I hardly think you're in a position to judge me."

"I am not judging you," Seven said evenly.

"Oh," said Janeway, the wind having been taken out of her sails a bit. In truth she had half expected the ex-Borg to be enraged by her outburst. "What's the matter then?"

She was not prepared for the response.

"I believe I am envious," Seven of Nine said.

Janeway could barely breathe. "Wha-what?" she stammered.

"I am envious. Yes, definitely," Seven confirmed, almost as if she were amazed at her own capacity to feel such a thing.

At first Janeway remained too stunned to speak, but slowly she began to understand. Had Seven ever known love? She may have been separated from the Collective for eight years, but from what she had shared with the Captain, it had seemed a rather solitary and traumatic existence. She couldn't really imagine the prickly young woman had ever let her guard down long enough to allow someone into her bed.

"Oh, Seven," she breathed softly. "Things will change, I promise. When we get back to Voyager, everything will be different for you. Everything. You'll see. You'll meet people, and nothing will seem out of reach, not even sex and relationships."

Seven let out an impatient breath. "That is not what I meant," she hissed.

"Oh," said Janeway, forced to admit she had no idea what the young woman DID mean.

"Never mind," said Seven angrily. "It is irrelevant."

Feeling awful, Janeway insisted. "It's not irrelevant, Seven. I'm sorry. Please ...."

"I am envious of the woman you copulated with," the young drone announced after taking a breath. "I am aware that you only shared a sexual union with her in exchange for currency, and yet I find myself hating her and wishing to exterminate her."

"You ... you hate her?" Janeway gasped. "You're ... envious of her?"

"Yes."

"Because she copulated with me?"

"Yes."  
Janeway was aware that she was just repeating everything Seven had just said, but she had to be sure. Did the young drone understand the implications of what she was saying? "You ... you're jealous?" she asked, because she had to be certain.

"Yes, I believe I am," Seven stated. And then she kissed her. 

She sat down beside the Captain on the bed and pushed her lips against hers with such ferocity that Janeway was quite taken aback. Seven was kissing her! Seven of Nine! For a moment she was too shocked to respond. But then her body took over, suffusing her with a sudden rush of giddy warmth that centred and pulsated between her legs. All thought was lost from her mind and there was only Seven's mouth, pliant and warm against hers. 

Janeway opened her mouth and the kiss deepened, tongue sliding against tongue as both women softly moaned in pleasure. Her fingers instinctively threaded into the young woman's pale hair, holding her close as she drank from her mouth for long, delicious moments.

Oh God this felt good. Good and so right. The passion burned brightly between them and suddenly all Janeway could think was how good it would feel to have sex with Seven, to push her back on this bed and undress her, put her head between those firm white thighs and make this poor abandoned creature cry out in joy.

Instead, she pushed her away. "No," she said.

"No?" asked Seven, bleary eyed.

"No, we can't do this," Janeway told her. "If we get back to Voyager, I'll be your Captain."

"And that precludes us having a relationship?" Seven asked.

A relationship? Janeway gulped. She had only been thinking about how awkward it would be commanding someone she'd slept with.

"This is why you copulate with prostitutes," the young woman continued.

Well that was it in a nutshell. "I suppose you could put it like that," Janeway admitted in a small voice.

Seven nodded. "Very well," she said, and got up to resume her work on the beacon.

Janeway felt rather shellshocked. To be honest, she had expected the former drone to put up a bit more resistance. Now she hadn't, it felt like a bit of an anti-climax. That kiss had been absolutely electrifying, and there had been a part of her, a very small part she rarely admitted to having, that had wished for Seven to push aside her protestations of command and just use that superior strength of hers to force Janeway into sex.

But she didn't. Instead, the incident seemed forgotten and work on the beacon resumed in earnest.

They worked on it for the rest of the day, often in silence, fixing up separate components that were then unified and tested later. They worked until Seven insisted that Janeway get some rest before she collapsed from exhaustion. 

Janeway was reluctant, but she knew the young drone would be able to continue through the night even without rest, so she finally consented to climb beneath the thin blankets of the bed.

She turned on her side to watch Seven of Nine work, sitting neatly on the floor with her components surrounding her. Her long fingers worked at near-impossible speeds, and she looked very calm and relaxed, despite the complexity of the work she was obviously doing. Although there was still something rather obviously inhuman about her, it somehow added an ethereal quality to the image of her as she sat in the bright light surrounded by her technology. 

Once again, Janeway found herself thinking of the kiss they had shared earlier in the day. She was slightly surprised by the strong throb of arousal that went through her lower body at the memory. There had been something about that, something magical. It was very rare Kathryn Janeway was so consumed by her senses. Yes, Seven of Nine was an amazing creature. 

As her eyelids began to get heavy, the Captain almost thought she saw a halo in the bright blonde of the young Borg's hair.

\---

Janeway woke after a deep night's sleep to see Seven by the basin once again, stripped to the waist. This time the young drone was washing her shirt in the cold water, scrubbing and wringing it with some vigour.

On the floor, a little way from the bed, there was a beacon. Not the components Janeway had gone to sleep to last night, not the mess of jumbled parts and half-assembled pieces, but a completed, seemingly functional beacon.

She took a breath. It was finished? 

Seven of Nine turned to her at the sound of her gasp. "You are awake," she stated flatly.

"Yes, yes, I ... Seven ... the beacon?"

"It is complete," the drone told her. "I finished it at 0200 this morning. It requires the proper Starfleet signal encoding and of course a message, but you will need to input those yourself."

"That's incredible! How ...?" Janeway doubted that B'Elanna and her entire engineering staff could have done the job that quickly.

"The components you constructed were inefficient," Seven said by way of explanation. "By using techniques known to the Borg I was able to eliminate many of the superfluous nodes and finish more expediently."

Janeway just blinked, and sat up on the edge of the bed to examine the beacon in more detail. She wasn't entirely certain she knew how to input either signal encoding OR a message.

Seven went back to her washing. 

"What's the time?" Janeway asked, although she did feel very well rested.

"It is still early, just past 0600."

Almost the exact time her alarm normally woke her on Voyager. Good to know her body clock still worked to Voyager time. Hopefully she would need it again very soon. If she could figure this beacon out.

Seven wrung out her shirt one final time and hung it over the sink to dry out. Then she started to wash herself, splashing her face and then sponging her body down with her washcloth.

Suddenly, it was very hard for Janeway to concentrate on the beacon. Seven's nipples had stiffened into hard points with the cold, and the beads of water that ran down those luscious breasts only served to distract her from the nodes and interconnections that really should be occupying Janeway's overheated brain.

She could feel her heart hammering in her chest as she stood up, leaving the beacon balanced carefully on the bed. Two steps and she was right beside the young woman and she reached out to her and took hold of her slender wrist. Her skin was cold and had water on it.

Seven reacted with mild surprise and turned to her. Janeway didn't hesitate; she reached up and brought Seven's full red mouth to hers. Hands on her face, tongue in her mouth. Fuck the consequences.

The drone kissed her back, her arms wrapping right round Janeway's waist, hands spreading out to take hold of handfuls of her body. Her back, her thigh, her bottom, a breast. They kissed and kissed, almost clinging to each other.

When it broke they were panting hard into each other's mouths and one of Seven's pupils was large and wide. Her tongue traced the outline of Janeway's lips and she breathed the Captain's given name against her cheek. 

They were still standing by the basin, resting against it. Intimate. Janeway let her fingers meander over Seven's neck and chest and breast, circling the plump pink nipple and teasing it until it seemed to beg for her to suck it. 

Seven gasped breathlessly as she grazed the nipple with her lips, once, twice. Swiped it with her tongue. Then sucked, strongly, pulling at the teat of it with her teeth. She grabbed a hold of the rest of the breast with her hand to steady it, enjoying herself with this incredible piece of womanhood. These breasts were nothing short of a treat.

Seven's hand was in her hair, her head dropped to her chest so she could watch the Captain love her nipples. She was pulling them and letting them spring from her lips, bouncing and cherry red. Delicious. She licked up the sides, too, tracing the droplets of water that remained from her wash.

Slowly, Seven was settling into the rhythm of sex, her hips swaying unconsciously, over and over again. Even as she continued her sucking and playing with the young woman's magnificent bosom, Janeway let her hand wander slowly between Seven's legs as well. She brushed over her mound only softly at first, getting Seven used to the idea. Then, when she was sure, she let herself touch what she wanted to touch, rolling the flats of her fingertips expertly over Seven's trousers.

The response was immediate. The young drone's hips bucked forward, hard as the crack of a whip. She cried out. 

"Oh ... Kathryn ..." she wailed, eyes closed and head thrown back. "More."

"Mmm ..." agreed Janeway, inching her lips down over Seven's flat belly. "Shhhh ..."

But there was no point trying to quiet the young woman. As soon as Janeway had pulled her clothing aside to expose her sex, she was begging the Captain to complete what she had started. Not that Janeway had any intention of disappointing her.

She urged the young woman's legs apart and pushed her face between them, grunting with pleasure as her tongue hit the right spot almost at once. Damn it, Seven was really ready to go. She was amazingly wet and hot and cried out loudly as Janeway started to lap at her.

The young drone grabbed rudely at her hair, trying to spread her legs even further as she thrust against Janeway's face. She was close already. Closer than close. Janeway allowed herself a smug little half-smile against the blonde hair of Seven's sex. She still had it. The prostitutes were all very well and good, but she never knew if they were faking it for the cash.

"Oh, I'm ... I'm ... oh!" Seven cried, clearly not having the vocabulary. Her face clenched and her hips arched as she came. Her Borg hand grasped the edge of the basin, and Janeway was both alarmed and amused to see a chunk of it came away in her hand.

The Captain slowed her lapping down to a gentle stop before placing a loving kiss on Seven's hip and smiling up at her. 

The young drone was shuddering, looking down at Janeway with wide eyes, one of which was filled with tears.

"You like that?" Janeway purred, kissing her way back up the young woman's body.

Seven nodded inarticulately. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.

Janeway stood up and kissed her new lover lightly on the mouth. "My turn," she whispered softly.

"Oh, yes!" cried Seven eagerly. But she looked a little lost. Nerves, perhaps. After all, the Captain had left her with a LOT to live up to.

Janeway took hold of the young drone's hand and squeezed it. "Don't worry," she said. "I'll show you what I like."

Seven offered her a ghost of a smile, and allowed the Captain to lead her back to the bed. Together they climbed beneath the rough blanket, still warm from Janeway's sleep, and started kissing again. Deep kisses, so deep that both women moaned as their tongues caressed.

Eager to reciprocate some of the pleasure she had just received, Seven yanked Janeway's tunic up, exposing her breasts. In a flash of self-consciousness, Janeway found herself sorry she didn't have the luscious, bountiful pair Seven possessed. But from the speed with which the young woman latched her mouth to one of the nipples, Janeway doubted she'd had time to admire the scenery anyway.

The young drone had sure paid attention, though. Or maybe she was going by knowledge assimilated by the Borg, because Janeway wasn't sure she'd ever had her nipples pleasured quite like this. Seven sucked, pinched and rolled first one and then the other, using teeth and fingers, keeping the Captain hovering somewhere on that delicious knife edge of pleasure and pain. God, that felt good. 

So good that when Seven began to move downwards towards her sex, Janeway stopped her and pulled her back up.

"Use your fingers ..." she managed to grunt, grabbing one of Seven's hands and thrusting it down the front of her trousers.

The young drone nodded, and her hand burrowed into the Captain's underwear and through the soaked hair until she found what she was looking for.

The young woman thrust two fingers up inside her, right to the hilt. Janeway gasped and shuddered at the sudden intrusion, but was unable to stop her pelvis contracting in delicious response. It had been a long time since anyone had penetrated her and she had almost forgotten how good it felt to be filled. 

She groaned and let the sensation take her over, spreading her legs and putting her hand over Seven's to show her the rhythm, the exact rhythm, the perfect rhythm ...

"Ohh, God yessss ..." she heard herself moan.

Seven was kissing her, moving on top of her, the weight of her body crushing naked breasts against naked breasts. She entwined her legs with Seven's, panted right with her, felt herself getting stiffer and stiffer and then lifting right up off the bed as Seven curled her fingers into her g-spot and pushed her right over the edge. 

A strangled cry ripped from her throat as her body released and she grasped Seven to her, pumping, pumping. Hips thrusting. Tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes. Then she went limp and sated, and all she remembered was being kissed by that soft soft mouth. Having words of love whispered to her as she fell into black sweet sleep.

\---

When she woke up again, they were naked and cuddling. Seven had spooned up behind her so they could both fit comfortably into the narrow bed. The young drone was warm and pleasantly soft against her back, and it felt really nice. 

Another thing she noticed was that the wave of shame she usually felt after sexual encounters was notably absent. Instead, she felt something more akin to warmth and comfort in the young woman's arms. She wasn't possessed by the overwhelming desire to sneak off and wash all trace of the encounter off her body, either. It felt good to have the scent of Seven's sex on her skin, and good to have her inner thighs still damp with her own arousal. Fulfilling.

She twisted slightly, as much as she could, and pressed a kiss against Seven's mouth. The drone, who was of course not asleep at all, smiled slightly and gazed intently into her eyes.

"I love you, Kathryn," she whispered in a voice so incredibly full of emotion ...

From anyone else, it would have been too much. But Seven was overcome. Utterly overcome by the experience, and Janeway could see that she was still not far from tears. Gently, she reached out and stroked the young woman's cheek with her fingertips. 

"I love you too, Seven," she whispered back. Even if it wasn't quite true, she suspected that soon it would be. This had been something amazing, something spectacular, something that was so much more than just sex. 

She knew fiercely that she wanted to take this young woman back to Voyager and spend the rest of her life falling deeply in love with her.

They shared another agonisingly wonderful kiss that threatened to blossom into more lovemaking until Seven pulled away, her eyes shining and her skin dusted a lovely shade of rose.

"We require food," she said softly. "The rations are issued in fifteen minutes."

Janeway nodded and let the young woman get up and begin dressing, watching her lazily in a state of post-coital bliss. "I'll prepare the beacon," she said. "Configure it, do the message."

Seven nodded, and picked the device up. "Use this port here to input the settings and the message," she indicated.

Janeway nodded, marvelling again at the efficient design. If nothing else, Seven would certainly prove valuable on Voyager. Coming up with wonders of modern technology overnight could solve so many problems for them.

Fully dressed and with her home made knife securely in her boot, Seven came over to kiss Janeway goodbye. 

"Be careful," the Captain told her new lover.

"Do not be afraid," said Seven. "I have done this many times."

Janeway nodded silently and kissed her again. Seven offered her a small smile before leaving, securing the cell door behind her.

With Seven gone, the Captain set about the beacon straight away. She didn't want to take the risk of Chakotay leaving the Kruger system before he had a chance to get her message.

She keyed in the Starfleet emergency code, and then her own personal code, so that Tuvok could verify that it really was her. Then she set about recording the repeating message. She was very impressed that Seven had managed to give the beacon audio capabilities with such limited equipment. The Kruger really could thank their lucky stars that she hadn't had the right tools to make a Borg homing device. The entire system would be drones by now.

"This is Captain Kathryn Janeway hailing the Federation Starship Voyager. Please verify my security codes. Lock on to the homing device for my location, and scan for two humans for transport. Janeway out."

Short and to the point. 

It seemed strange hearing her own voice in command mode in this place, though. Almost like the voice of another person entirely. 

She set the beacon to transmit and secured it where it wouldn't get damaged. All they had to do now was wait. Wait and hope. At least they had something to occupy their time now, she mused with a dirty grin.

Getting up, Janeway washed and dressed herself, and set about filling the water containers once again. She stowed them under the bed, singing rather tunelessly to herself. As she went back to the basin, however, she sensed the presence of another person in the room.

"That was quick," she started to say as she turned around. But it wasn't Seven. 

It was a group of Kruger women, rather cleaner and better presented than the ones she'd seen before in Sha Ri. The one at the front, particularly, looked quite finely dressed, and her long black hair shone brightly in the cell's light.

She backed away, towards the sink, hoping to God she could get her hands on something to use as a weapon. "How did you get in here?" she asked.

"The Borg isn't as clever as she thinks she is," said the one at the front.

"I think she might surprise you," Janeway bluffed, hoping to use Seven's formidable reputation to her advantage.

The woman cocked her head to one side. "Maybe," she admitted. "But she isn't here now, is she, Fresh Meat?"

Janeway said nothing, but continued to inch backwards. This did not look good. "Are you with Sarbell?" she asked, trying to keep them talking, buy herself some time.

The woman smiled. "In a manner of speaking," she said in that slow lilt of hers. "I am Sarbell."

Janeway swallowed. "What do you want with me?"

Sarbell smiled, a rather unpleasant wolfish smile. "I wanted to see you," she said. "When one of my women told me yesterday that the Borg had a woman of her own, I didn't believe it. I thought perhaps she had assimilated you or something. Now I see you ..."

She looked Janeway up and down rather unpleasantly.

"I have to say I'm disappointed," she sneered.

"The feeling's mutual," Janeway hissed.

Sarbell didn't react to the insult. "That Borg," she continued instead, "has been a constant problem for me since the day she arrived. She's a rogue element here, and one I really don't think I can control."

"No, I expect not," Janeway said.

"No," Sarbell concurred. "I can admit that. The Borg are powerful beings, there's no shame in that."

The Kruger licked her lips slowly, as if she were considering her next words carefully.

"What's your name, Fresh Meat?" she asked eventually.

"Kathryn Janeway."

"Ah. Well, the Borg's hurt me badly over the years, Kathryn Janeway," Sarbell continued. "Hurt people I've loved, killed many of them. And I've never found a single chink in that armour. Not one. I've never been able to hurt her the way she's hurt me."

Janeway could sense where this was headed. Desperately, she searched for an escape route, some way ... some way to run or hide or fight them off ...

"But I can hurt YOU," Sarbell finished. 

Blind panic as Sarbell's posse of followers started moving toward her. 

"Seven will kill you," she warned, backing away until her back hit the basin. 

"I'll take the risk," Sarbell said, grinning a horrible spitless grin. 

Her followers moved in then, making a grab for her and pushing her hard into the wall. She hit her chin and bit her own tongue. But Kathryn Janeway wasn't going down without a fight. She used the wall to give herself some leverage and then bounced back at them, catching one square on the nose with her elbow and managing to get her foot into the shin of another. 

But there were six of them, and one of her. She didn't stand a chance. They tackled her from behind and brought her to the ground with a crashing thud that she feared might have broken a rib or two.

The Captain heard herself cry out as they twisted her arm up behind her back, doing their damndest to pull it out of its socket. She managed to save herself by going limp and pretending to surrender, although the tears of pain were very real. 

"Good girl, good girl," Sarbell soothed as she stopped struggling. "You have nothing to worry about, we're not going to kill you."

There was one particularly butch Kruger sitting on Janeway's back at the moment, crushing the air out of her. "Fuck you!" she spat. "Seven's going to rip out your fucking heart!"

Sarbell laughed. "Let her try!" she cried. "I've got over a hundred people ready to take her down, Kathryn Janeway. You think she can get through ALL of them?"

"Yes!" Janeway cursed, pissed beyond all reason. 

"Let her try," the Kruger said again. Then, to her friends, "Come on, let's take her."

The butch one got off Janeway's back and hauled her up to her feet while another stripped the blanket off the bed to throw over The Captain's head. She struggled wildly under the blanket but it was no use. All it got her was several hard blows round the head as they picked her up and dragged her out of the cell to god knows where.

\---

It seemed like ages between being dragged from the cell and being dumped onto a wet, freezing floor somewhere else, still shrouded by the blanket. Janeway cried out in protest as she got a kick in her sore ribs, and she struggled out from under her covering to try and defend herself.

"Come on, Fresh Meat," jeered Sarbell. 

The light was agonisingly bright, and it took Janeway a moment to get a fix on her surroundings. It looked like she was in some sort of long-disused shower room. The walls and floor were covered with cracked, dirty white tiles and water dripped incessantly from the corroded pipes above. The whole room stank of damp and mildew.

She also realised that for the first time since she had entered Sha Ri, she couldn't hear noise from the other inmates. That was not good. Wherever they were, it was far away from the main prison habitat. 

It was a big room, though. Maybe she had a chance of escape. If she could get to the corridor, she could run. Keep running. She might be able to get away, find her way back to the cell. 

They were circling round her now, backing her into a corner, their feet making little splashes as they walked through the fetid water to get to her. This was not going to be easy. In fact, Janeway thought, it was probably going to get worse before it got better.

Suddenly, she was pushed roughly from behind. It was the butch one, and boy was she strong. Janeway stumbled forward into the waiting arms of another Kruger woman, a rangy one with a face like a horse. She seized the Captain by the hair and slapped her in the face. With wet skin, that really hurt. 

The butch one got hold of her again, and she didn't pull any punches. Literally. Janeway went flying across the room, knocked off her feet by the enormous right hook that got her right on the chin. She landed on her butt in the cold water, dizzy and disoriented. Her lip was bleeding. She felt sick.

They advanced on her again and she scrabbled away desperately, trying to get to her feet, trying to put some distance between them and herself, needing time to think.

Her feet betrayed her, though, and she slipped on the tiles as she tried to get up, landing on her face with a grunt. She didn't have time to give it another go. One of them grabbed her hair and she was theirs.

Several arms wrapped round her, pressing her close to their inhumanly hot bodies. So close she could feel their breath on her neck. They were dragging her over to a table that stood rotting over in one corner. From the looks of the bloodstains on it, this wasn't the first time they'd used it, either. Panic took a hold of her. She struggled wildly, beyond caring about who she hit where, determined they would not get the better of her. These women were no better than a pack of dogs, and she would NOT let them use her to hurt Seven.

She lashed out with a hand, pleased when her nails raked across flesh and came away bloody, rejoicing when she sank her teeth into flesh and heard a cry of pain. She pulled hair, ripped clothing, kicked and spat and fought like a wildcat.

By the time they slammed her down onto the table she had hurt them all. 

She hit the table on her stomach and they pushed her head down, hitting her with one of those small wooden clubs she'd been beaten with on the first day of her arrival. Those things hurt. Her vision swam in and out of focus as pain split her skull.

"Are you going to be good now, Fresh Meat?" asked Sarbell.

"Fuck you!" Janeway managed, spitting blood.

"No, fuck you," said Sarbell calmly, taking a handful of Janeway's hair and pulling her head back. She held her like that as the others pinned her firmly against the table and ripped at her trousers.

The terrible truth dawned on Janeway. They were going to rape her. Jesus Christ they were going to rape her! Her trousers were shoved unceremoniously to her knees and she felt them rip at her underwear, tearing it into shreds until she was naked from the waist down. 

Oh God this was awful. Worse even than in that Cardassian prison. At least that had been war, at least she had had the protection and the confidence of her uniform, the thought of her friends and family and loved ones being just a few systems away. 

She shut her eyes as they kicked her legs apart, shut her eyes and tried to focus on Seven of Nine, on her beautiful face, on the way she'd looked just an hour ago as she'd fallen apart in ecstasy at the touch of Janeway's tongue. She could get through this. She could. For Seven.

For Seven.

For Seven ...

She cried out as they spread her apart and violated her with their hands, cold hands, dirty alien hands. She cried out and they jeered, so she bit down on her lip to stop herself from making any more noise. She couldn't help it as they brought the club down across her buttocks, three times in succession. She choked in pain and coughed up blood.

"Good girl," hissed Sarbell, pretending to soothe her. "Nearly over now ..."

Oh but it wasn't. They took turns in assaulting her, battering and molesting her with equal fervour. The more she cried out and winced and wept, the more it seemed to please them. Finally, when it seemed as though every inch of her body was bruised and bleeding and dying, the big butch Kruger decided she was going to mete out one final punishment that was all her own.

Janeway was almost unconscious by this time, so she wasn't fully aware of what was going on when she first noticed that the Kruger were taking it in turns to knock at one of the filthy shower heads with the club. After a few swings from Butch, however, it splintered and flew off, hitting the tiles. The Kruger cheered.

Butch picked it up, weighing it expertly in her hand. It was wet and slimy with the coppery deposits that were dripping from the pipes still, and Janeway began to worry they were going to use it as another club.

That, as it turned out, would have been preferable. Butch came up behind the Captain and started stroking it over the prone woman's buttocks, letting the razor-sharp broken edges scratch her flesh. 

"You reckon you can take this, Fresh Meat?" she whispered. "Take it all the way in?"

Janeway went bugshit. That would kill her, she was certain of it. If she didn't die from the shock, the bleeding would finish her off, especially in this state. She lashed out, trying to kick Butch, throw her off, anything. But the Kruger held her firm. 

She could feel Butch opening her, thrusting the broken end against her. It bit into the delicate flesh of her sex and kept biting. Kept sliding. Butch was strong and she pushed relentlessly. It hurt, oh God it hurt so much. Janeway could hear herself screaming over and over again, mindless shrieks of raw throated agony that ripped at her until she screamed so hard that she threw up, all over the table and all over herself.

She screamed because the pain was all there was, white and bloody. It overtook everything, everything she was and had been, everything she'd held in front of her like a shield.

For a few moments, before she passed out, she couldn't even picture Seven's face. 

\---

She came round because water was dripping onto her head. She was on the floor under the table, and there was water in her nose and mouth as well. She couldn't move. Everything below her waist seemed frozen, and she couldn't work it out.

She opened her eyes. There was blood everywhere.

She coughed, and something hurt, something far away, and the pain was disjointed and not her own. Slowly she got up onto her elbows, spitting some of the foul-tasting water out.

She was naked from the waist down and her legs were blue with cold. No wonder she couldn't feel them. Her trousers were some distance away, lying soaking on the floor. She wanted them. She didn't like being naked.

She moved, and it all came back.

The pain, the memories, all of it hit her with a slap. She cried out loud. She wanted Seven then, fiercely, deeply. She needed to get back to her. 

She managed to get to her knees before she realised that the shower head that Butch had used to rape her was still inside her. Buried, stabbing. She hadn't felt it at all. It must be the shock.

She knew it might not be a good idea to pull it out, but she didn't want it inside her. It was filthy, disgusting. She wanted to rip it from her body and break it into a thousand pieces.

She pulled it out in one swift tug, and the pain made her scream again. There was surprisingly little blood though. Perhaps she hadn't got much left to lose. 

She started crawling over to her first goal: her trousers. Every movement was agony. Every breath seemed to grate bone against bone in her battered body. All she wanted was to collapse into oblivion. But she couldn't. Seven might never find her, she might just die and be left here to rot, and those Kruger whores would have their way.

She was not going to let that happen. If she was going to die, it was going to be on her terms, in Seven of Nine's arms.

She put her trousers on and it took forever. But she felt better instantly, more like herself. She focussed on moving again, towards the dark corridor that must lead back to the main body of the prison.

She was cold, cold right through her bones, and blood was seeping through her trousers already. She would be better if she could get out of this room, she thought. The temperature might not improve but at least it wouldn't be wet. The icy water was sapping her strength fast.

Finally, she dragged herself out into the darkened corridor. Still she could hear no noise from the main body of the prison itself, which led her to believe it was a long way away. Certainly it had seemed that way when they had dragged her down here under that blanket. Icy air filled this place and it certainly smelled deserted.

Centimetre by centimetre, she dragged herself along the rough stone floor, fighting to keep from falling unconscious. She tried everything, singing to herself at first, finding that concentrating on music and lyrics and keeping in tune distracted her from the pain. Then, when she couldn't sing any more, she talked to herself, urging herself on, pushing herself.

"Come on Kathryn," she muttered. "Come on, you can do this. You can. You fought the Kazon, the Vidiians, you beat the Krenim. You beat Seska. This is nothing. You can do this. Come on ..."

She focussed on Seven's face, trying to think about her goal. Getting back to the prison, finding their cell. 

Oh, but she needed to sleep. So badly. She was beyond tired. What would it hurt to rest for a minute, to sink into beautiful unconsciousness? She was going to die anyway. It wouldn't hurt. Maybe a little rest would focus her mind, give her some strength back. 

But something told her that if she closed her eyes now, she would never open them again. So she continued her torturous journey, dragging herself bodily when her knees gave way and she couldn't crawl any more. 

It took hours before she even saw an electric light. By that time her breath was shallow and coming in uneven gasps. The only thing that kept her warm was her own copious bleeding. Her fingernails were blue and some of them were torn from hauling her along.

Even though she had finally reached the main prison, she knew the real danger was only just beginning. This was not a place for the injured. It was very likely she would be set upon by some of the other prisoners and killed for her clothing, filthy and bloody though it was.

Of course, she had no idea where Seven of Nine's cell was, either. She had never been more than two metres into the corridor outside it. What she needed was for the young drone to find her. Desperately. The bleeding was getting worse, and it was the only chance she had.

So she called for her. With the last of her strength, Janeway lifted her voice and called out the designation of her beloved, the woman she had met only a few days ago and yet who she already knew was a deep and powerful part of her destiny.

"Seven!" she cried. "Seven! Please help me!"

She cried her name over and over again to the grey damp of the prison air, to the walls and the floor and the vast space that lay between her and the prison.

She shouted until her voice gave out, until her shouts were whispers and she had nothing left. Absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.

Her face hit the floor and she barely felt it. She wasn't even pleased that she was dying now. She really didn't feel a thing.

"Kathryn," she heard from somewhere above her, and then she felt a vague interest in the afterlife. For a moment she thought it was her grandmother's voice, or her father's. It was a voice that meant a lot to her, she knew. Summoning her.

She felt strong arms, felt supported and carried. She knew the smell of the person and settled into their embrace. Sleeping. Death was good.

It was only when she realised that she was actually still in pain that she knew she wasn't dead at all.

She opened her eyes, and she was with Seven. Being carried. 

"Sev ... Seven ..." she managed to croak. Just wanting the young woman to know she was alive.

"I am here, Kathryn," she said. "You must endeavour to stay alive until I can treat you."

Janeway nodded sleepily. She would.

Seven took her into their cell and placed her onto the bed. Ripped open her clothes to examine her. "What are your injuries?" she asked curtly.

Janeway shook her head, unable to speak. "Everything ..." she managed to pant eventually. She couldn't focus at all. There was so much pain. So much.

Seven pressed a hand against her forehead and held her down as her tubules shot out and penetrated Janeway's neck. Janeway gritted her teeth and let that cold Borg oblivion take her over. Treat her. Look after her.

She took a breath, and fell unconscious.

\---

Janeway woke with a start. Sitting up in the bed in her tattered clothes. Something wasn't right.

Seven was by the basin, not washing. Not doing anything. Just staring straight ahead.

The taste of her mouth was wrong. Her skin was not her own. It felt detached, part of someone else. Her face was heavy. Her arms flet like they were blistering.

"Seven?" she moaned softly. Her voice was odd too, ringing in her ears metallically.

Seven didn't so much as turn her head.

"Seven ... please ..." she implored the young woman.

"I do not know what to do, Kathryn," Seven said in a cold voice.

"I'm sick ... I don't feel well."

"I know," the drone said. "And I do not know if I can treat you."

"No?"

"I have given you nanoprobes. Too many. Your body is just rejecting them now."

Slowly, Janeway looked at her hands. Turned them over. They were grey in places, in places she could see the veins, stark and black under her skin. Borg. She touched her face. On her cheek there was a starburst, exploded out of her skin. Embedded. On the sheet where she had been lying, there were clumps of red hair. She brushed her head, and more fell out. Dead in her lap.

"Wha ... what have you done to me?" she gasped. "Oh Jesus, Seven .."

"I know!" the young drone exploded. She lashed out, striking the wall with her fist. It left a sizeable imprint. She stomped off across the room, pacing.

"Am I ... am I going to die?" Janeway asked in a tiny, tinny voice.

"I do not know!" the former Borg yelled at her. 

"Oh," said Janeway.

"Sarbell did this to you, didn't she."

Janeway didn't answer.

"DIDN'T SHE!" Seven roared at her, making her jump.

"Yes!"

"Yes. Yes, I thought so. She has beaten you ... attempted to kill you. Sexually assaulted you."

"Yes," the Captain agreed.

"She will die," Seven said. "I will kill her."

"She has many followers, Seven."

"They will ALL die."

"No, wait!" Janeway implored. "Maybe ... maybe we should just lay low, you know? We have the beacon. Voyager may be coming for us. Everything might still be okay."

"I do not care," the drone declared. "I do not care about any of that now. Sarbell ..." she stopped dead, unable to find the words. Her hands were clenched into fists by her sides.

"No, don't!"

"I MUST!" Seven cried. She flung open the cell door with such force that it bent and fell off one of its hinges. "I will kill everyone I meet until she is the last one left and I can rip the heart from her thoracic cavity!"

"No, Seven, wait!" Janeway yelled, trying to drag herself out of bed to follow the young woman down the cold corridors. 

She stumbled along, stronger than she had been, but still needing the wall to hold her up. Still bleeding a little. Noticing another starburst on her wrist. 

Seven was ahead, moving out to where the corridor widened into a communal room. Several Kruger lived here obviously. Their beds were grouped around a bundle of possessions. 

Seven had one of them by the chin. "You follow Sarbell," she was saying flatly.

Then, before Janeway could get close, the young drone swung the Kruger woman around by the neck, and drove her head so hard against the wall her skull smashed, killing her instantly.

The others went crazy, screaming and trying to look for weapons. Seven killed one with her knife and broke the neck of the other even as she was pulling her weapon out of the hapless woman's chest.

She turned to Janeway, eyes blazing. "Were these women involved?" she asked, indicating the three corpses.

Janeway shook her head mutely.

"Very well," said Seven, and made to move off.

"No, please stop, Seven!" Janeway begged. "Please!"

"Stay close to me, Kathryn," was the only response she got. "They must not be allowed to harm you again."

"Please listen!" the Captain implored. "I'm worried about you ... this is not going to help you. You will regret this for the rest of your life, Seven!"

The drone turned to her, her eyes filled with rage and sorrow and something Janeway had never seen before that looked dangerously close to psychosis. "Annika," she said.

"What?" 

"Annika. My name is Annika Hansen, and I am not doing this because I am cold and Borg. I am doing this because I am human and I love you!"

"Then please ... I don't want this! These women ..."

"They were followers of Sarbell!" she cried. With that, she moved on, into the next corridor. Here, there were cells, very much like their own. Seven knocked the first door down with her foot and went inside. She dragged the inmate out by her hair and held her up for Janeway to examine. "Was this woman involved?" she demanded.

"No!" Janeway cried. 

Seven broke her neck anyway.

The woman in the next cell came out to see what the commotion was, and got Seven's knife in her throat in less than a second. "Was she involved?" the young drone demanded.

"No ... no, please you have to stop this ..."

"I will not stop until I kill them ALL!"

She marched off, dragging Janeway by the arm now. Janeway needed her support to walk. She finished off the occupants of the next few corridors in much the same fashion, leaving their bodies where they fell and moving onto the next.

By this time, word had somehow spread that Seven was coming and bringing hell with her. Some of the Kruger had banded together in one of the communal rooms and they were pretty well armed by Sha Ri standards.

Seven didn't even hesitate long enough to draw a breath. She grabbed the first one by the neck and crushed her windpipe between her fingers, then threw her body at the crowd. Some of them thought better of it and turned to run.

"You will all die!" Seven told them in a flat voice.

One of the larger ones came at her, brandishing a club. Without so much as blinking, Seven buried her arm in the woman's ribs, almost up to the elbow. Blood sprayed across the room, splattering Seven and Janeway both.

More of the Kruger decided to run away. 

Then, two of them jumped Seven at once, but it was as if the young drone were swatting flies. One of them was thrown against the far wall, so hard that Janeway knew at once she wasn't getting up again. The other was killed with the knife, buried in her neck with deadly precision.

Seven was soaked with blood now, little more than a pair of staring eyes and a grim, set mouth. She looked a terrifying spectre. Janeway clung to her. She could hardly walk at all. She felt very ill.

They moved on, through rooms and corridors with terrifying pace. Seven dispatched prisoner after prisoner, everyone they met. She had long since stopped asking Janeway if they had anything to do with her attack. It was true, she was really going to kill them all.

Eventually, they reached a large, poorly lit room which Seven announced was the transport site. This, apparently, was the place where she had initially been transported in to Sha Ri, although it barely looked familiar. There was only a small Kruger girl, aged no more than sixteen, who was huddled in a corner eating a ration cake. 

She looked at Seven with indifferent eyes as she approached; clearly the pitiful creature had no will to live. Seven grabbed her by the neck.

"No!" cried Janeway. "For God's sake!"

"She is a follower of Sarbell," Seven said.

"No she isn't," said a voice from behind them. 

Sarbell swept in, followed by her entourage, which included the despicable Butch and the Horse woman. Janeway's blood went cold, and she instinctively moved behind Seven for protection. She wasn't feeling good at all.

"I hear you've been looking for me, Borg," the Kruger said contemptuously.

"I am here to kill you," Seven informed her. "All of you."

"I saw the mess you made of the other prisoners," said Sarbell lightly. "You're a one-woman solution to the overcrowding problem. I think the government would be pleased."

Seven said nothing. She was not interested in games or word-play. She wanted to kill Sarbell.

"We had a little fun with your woman there," the Kruger continued. "I take it that's what you're so pissed about."

"You are correct," Seven spat. 

"You should think yourself lucky I didn't kill her. I should have done. After Tanda and Bilsharm and Dridda. And all the others."

"I do not care," said Seven. "I do not wish to hear your explanations. You will die at my hands. Now."

Seven took two steps towards the Kruger, and Sarbell's entourage stepped in front of her protectively. All of them were armed, Janeway noticed.

She didn't feel so good herself. Her hair was all but gone. Her blood was fizzing, she could barely hold together a coherent thought. Her legs were giving way.

Seven took hold of the first Kruger woman, breaking her arm as she tried to club the drone. She broke her neck a second later.

Janeway, sweating, fell to her knees on the cold stone floor. There was something badly wrong with her.

The second Kruger, the Horse woman, was being killed by Seven's knife. Her guts spilled out across the floor even as the life drained from her eyes.

Janeway was in her hands and knees. Vomiting and wretched. 

The third Kruger had her throat slashed. She had lasted less than thirty seconds.

Janeway collapsed in her own vomit. Face on the floor.

She saw Seven move in to grapple Butch. She ripped her head right off her shoulders. Tossed it aside by the hair.

Janeway could hardly breathe. The light was growing dim.

Seven moved in on Sarbell, took hold of her round the neck. Held her high above her, back against the wall. Strangling her. Watching her, looking deep into her eyes as she killed her. Deep, deep. 

Janeway was falling. Everything was changing. Everything was getting dark. Darker. Brighter. Blue. Sparkling. Everything was beautiful oblivion, and she was several billion pieces of herself.

\---

Janeway woke up to the afterlife, and the Doctor was there. 

Paris, too, standing over her. The lights were bright and clean, and the air was fresh and warm. She took a breath of it, and then another.

"Doctor?" she asked.

"Welcome back, Captain," he grinned. "We didn't think you were going to make it for a while there."

"I'm all right," she assured him, although she wasn't really sure if that was true.

"You will be," he assured her. 

"Sev ... Seven?" she asked. 

He wrinkled his photonic brow. "I'm sorry, Captain?" he asked her.

"My companion ... Seven of Nine ... is she aboard?"

"Ah yes, the Borg lady. Right over there."

He stepped aside and Seven was there, sitting up on one of the biobeds. She looked amazing. Beautiful, kissed by the warmth of Voyager's lights, dressed in the bright blue of her sickbay gown. 

She was looking at Janeway, uncertain.

Janeway sat up on the bed, never more certain in her life. She smiled at Seven, hoping she would smile back.

She did.


End file.
